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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27365845">As Simple As A Handshake</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProustPerfume/pseuds/ProustPerfume'>ProustPerfume</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Also Kenma ur gay like really gay, Everyone pls ship rivals atsuken they’re so good pls, Handshakes but with Tension, Kenma and Atsumu are both gay and bitches and that’s basically all this fic is, M/M, Nationals, Rivals, Rivals to Lovers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:53:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,891</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27365845</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProustPerfume/pseuds/ProustPerfume</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A goodbye for one and a beginning for the other, two teams, Inarizaki High and Nekoma High, face off at Nationals and their captains don’t have the best of relationships.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hinata Shouyou/Kozume Kenma (implied), Kozume Kenma/Miya Atsumu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>As Simple As A Handshake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Captains! Come forward, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two captains nodded and approached the referee. Honestly, had you asked about it a year prior, nobody would’ve thought a day like that would’ve come; a day where both Nekoma and Inarizaki would meet a hindrance to their destined rematch with Karasuno. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kozume Kenma, captain of Nekoma High, and Miya Atsumu, captain of Inarizaki High, approached the referee stand and at the appearance of their opponent, the word “pleasant” was as far from their minds as possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Miya Atsumu. 17 years old. Setter. Captain of Inarizaki High School. A pain in the ass.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kozume Kenma. 17 years old. Setter. Captain of Nekoma High School. Doesn’t know what’s coming to him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kozume Kenma-san!” Miya Atsumu’s voice, that was probably pleasant to others but absolutely grating to Kenma’s ears, rang out as he reached the referee stand, and it took all of Kenma’s effort to keep himself from rolling his eyes at the idiot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miya approached him with his arms spread out wide, a stance that was maybe supposed to signify a truce, friendless, an olive branch, if you will, but to Kenma he just looked like a cocky asshole who thought he was above it all and his flippant attitude pissed the blonde off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Normally, Kenma wouldn’t care about that kind of thing; be an asshole all you want, what did it matter to him? But, normally, Kenma wasn’t doing everything in his power to meet someone he had already faced before once again. Normally, Kenma wouldn’t have spent the past year training his ass off for one match, one single person, so a little abnormality for the bastard that was standing directly in his way of his goal was called for, he thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miya Atsumu.” It was bitter, gritted out through clenched teeth that only tightened more when he saw the other’s “friendly” smile easily morph into a smirk at the sound of his tense voice. That bastard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Skipping the pleasantries and diving right into war, I see. That’s not really like you, Ken-chan.” Kenma’s eyebrow quirked in furry and </span>
  <em>
    <span>damn</span>
  </em>
  <span> Miya Atsumu for being able to get under his skin </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> right, it made controlling his expressions that much more difficult that usual and Miya Atsumu was nothing if he didn’t love to watch his opponents suffer, especially from his own doing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what do you know about how I’m like, Miya-san?” It was a game they played, calling the other the thing they hated most. Neither of them could even remember how it started, who said what first, but what did the past matter when both knew neither could let it go after learning just how much it pissed the other off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That time, Miya Atsumu’s face scrunched up in displeasure, and Kenma couldn’t help the accomplished smirk that formed on his face, the spread of his lips that said </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘I won this one, Miya,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> at finding a crack in Miya’s armor, and the look only widened when it’s appearance ruffled the other setter’s feathers even more, the fake mask of sportsmanship immediately dropping and leaving nothing left but an ugly snarl of bitter competitiveness on the other’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> letting you win this game, Kenma-chan,” Atsumu bit out, his arms falling to his side and turning into small fists. Kenma reveled in the vein pushing so hard against Miya’s temple, wondering what it would've been like to flick it and watch it bounce in irritation, as its owner struggled to keep his composure in his aggression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two of us are entering this court today, but only one of us is leaving a loser, and it surely isn’t me, Miya-san.” Something like a growl bubbled up in Miya’s throat and he took a step forward, almost like he’s going to pounce on Kenma, but Kenma was ready for whatever he was going to throw his way; he’d been sharpening his claws for a much bigger prey for the past year and this dumb fox wasn’t about to get in the way of that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever could’ve happened between them didn’t, though, because the referees finally finished up with their pregame tasks and turned to the two captains, their feisty nature slinking away into begrudged complacency as the referee held that damned coin up that told their fate in the air, the shine from the fluorescent lines reflecting off the metal in an almost painful way, and the two captains almost shielded their eyes from how bright it was, a fitting metaphor for the faraway, burning light the two of them were chasing after of an opponent at a different school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The referee showed them both sides of the coin. “Heads for Nekoma, tails for Inarizaki.” The captains nodded and there it was, the ringing </span>
  <em>
    <span>ching</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the coin hitting nail and flying through the air. The referee caught it and covered it quickly, keeping prying eyes from seeing the winner before he wanted them to. He lifted his hand to read the results and quickly pocketed the coin, facing the captains once more.</span>
</p><p><span>“Nekoma.” A victory for Kenma before the game had even begun. Miya groaned in annoyance while Kenma had his own ceremony, a small </span><em><span>‘yes!’ </span></em><span>hand</span> <span>gesture being made at his success, and it might’ve been childish to take their competitiveness to even such lengths as a coin toss, but who cared? Their eyes met once more and it was obvious one of them was much happier with the arrangement than the other.</span></p><p>
  <span>“Nekoma will receive Inarizaki’s server.” Maybe Kenma said it a bit pompously, a little too cocky, but so what? Any bad karma he got for his attitude before the game was worth it when Miya Atsumu looked like he was seconds away from wrapping his fingers around Kenma’s neck and squeezing until as the shorter could do was gasp for air, the referees and audience and even the rest of their teammates be damned. Anything was worth seeing that irritated expression on the other’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both took turns shaking the referees’ hand and there came the worst part; the part where they had to shake </span>
  <em>
    <span>each other’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> hand. They looked like little kids trying to avoid cooties as they eyed each other’s outstretched hand, but, of course, Kenma ended up being the more mature one of the two and took the other setter’s hand in his, as much as he didn’t want to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s warm, Miya’s hand, and tough, calloused from hours and hours of practice for a sport he loved, and the fruition of his efforts would be known soon enough. Kenma’s hand was much softer, having not put as much effort into volleyball as Atsumu had until recently, but his hands were still rough from a different kind of effort, hours and hours of hands gripping controllers and his mouse and arcade cabinets that gave him his own very unique and particular calluses that rub strangely against Miya’s hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miya gripped his hand tightly, to the point that it almost hurt, the bastard, and gave Kenma that winning smile of his, that one that had his fans squealing in the stands for him and was so devious and conniving that it even tricked Kenma for a second, making him think that maybe he was honest an honest player he knew he wasn’t, those perfect, white teeth and soft looking lips baring themselves to him in an attractive, unfamiliar way, and it made a sick feeling twist up in his stomach, but, as always, it was ruined the second Miya opened his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good luck, Kenma-chan.” The grip tightened even more and Atsumu grinned at the almost inaudible wince Kenma gave in response, but, despite Kenma’s efforts, he still heard it. “You’re gonna need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll make sure to remember this face and compare it to your face after we win, Miya-san, so don’t worry about me.” Kenma was never good at faking anything for anyone, but for Miya he wore the biggest, fakest smile he could muster and it almost turned genuine when he saw the horror Miya looked at him with at seeing such a foreign expression on a normally expressionless face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their hands released and they moved to their own sides of the court, glaring at each other through the net. Their teammates made comments, voiced worries, even considered plays before the game started, but all of it was for naught as neither of their captains were listening, only maintaining deep, competitive eye contact with their enemy only half a court away. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bring it on,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Kenma thought, positioning himself to receive as Miya readied himself for his serve, and by the look the other setter gave him, he knew he was thinking the exact same thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And compare, Kenma had, Miya’s expressions before the game versus after. It was so interesting, seeing the same face in such contrasting expressions in such a short amount of time; the first was loose, though not easy, laxed some places and pulling tightly in others, he looked prepared, not as scared as he probably was knowing this might be his last high school volleyball game, but even with his attitude Kenma could still see the smallest bits of fear lining his face over the very real possibility that he really would leave the court a loser just like he did last year once again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That fear grew and expanded as the game went on, reaching even the furthermost corners of his face, every nook and cranny coated in it, until it finally covered his entire face and settled into something more, something worse; pure, unadulterated despair and defeat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was so inciting, so wonderful, to see Miya Atsumu at his wits end, and it was only better that it was entirely Kenma’s fault. Match point, Nekoma’s side, 29 to 28, last set. Kenma could tell Miya planned for his performance to stagger and stumble by the end of the third set (they both knew they would have a third set and, in fact, they planned on it) but it was Miya’s mistake for thinking that Kenma was the same kind of person, the same kind of player, he was last year. It was his mistake for not realizing just how much the same monster they both strived to fight shook Kenma to his core and kick started him into something that started to make even him slightly resemble a monster, and Miya had no one to blame but himself for his carelessness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Old habits die hard, they say, and Kenma knew that no matter what, two things were to happen in the last set; he’d make Miya desperate, and Miya would without a doubt send the last point to his brother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like watching a mouse walk into a trap and Kenma had never identified more with the cat moniker of his school until then, calculated, hungry eyes tuned into and consuming all possible content they could to help him catch his prey. His eyes moved miles in milliseconds and he felt like his brain had never run better, computing and firing off amounts of information that normally would’ve given him a headache as if it was easy as breathing, all just to stop Miya Atsumu.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miya took his first step and Kenma was right there with him, chasing after him, a foreboding, evil feeling clinging to the setter’s back, and Kenma knew he was scared, terrified, knew it before his fingers even touched the ball, and it was only confirmed when he actually whiffed the toss. It was so minuscule, almost indiscernible to someone who was so laser focused on Miya like Kenma was, meaning it was impossible for anyone else in the entire gym, the audience, the referees, even their own teammates to detect, but Kenma knew, and Miya knew, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was so microscopic a mistake and from his sheer talent the toss may as well have been perfect, but by Miya’s standards and what Kenma knew he was capable of, he may as well have missed the ball entirely. It was ugly, watching the realization of his mistake flood Miya’s face before the ball had even left his fingers, but Kenma didn’t have a second to waste on wistful thinking, immediately pouncing on his enemy’s weakness and running harder than he’d ever run before, jumping with so much power in his legs he swore the ground shook beneath him and the entire gym, the entire world, surely felt it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Shoyo was here, the very person who plagued both Kenma and Miya’s aspirations (and little did Kenma know, he in fact was there in the gym, watching his to rivals fight it out, just for him), he would’ve been proud to see him work that hard, to hustle for the ball like that; Kenma, the unenthused setter, playing volleyball like is life depended on it. (And maybe it did, and afterwards, he was right, Shoyo was beyond proud of him, and he wouldn’t stop talking about that last play. His enthusiasm and compliments put a smile on Kenma’s face).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma never blocked his opponents, never jousted with the guys twice his size because the result was obvious, but as he flew into the air, as he felt that sting and heard that loud </span>
  <em>
    <span>smack</span>
  </em>
  <span> of ball painfully against his arms as Miya Osamu hit it with everything he had, he wondered why he’d never done this before. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>riveting</span>
  </em>
  <span>, encaptivating in a way he never knew how, and he marveled at how even then, at the end of it all and the start of something more, he was still able to find something new about volleyball, to find a new way to play a game he thought he knew all about, and it was as his feet crashed against the floor, the sound of rubber soul on wood and the screech of his heels on the surface, that he felt like he could finally understand Hinata Shoyo and everything he was about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing Kenma did, even before the referee blew the whistle, the last ball landing perfectly besides Miya Osamu, was whip his eyes towards the spiker’s twin to see the look on his face knowing he’d just lost, and it didn’t disappoint. He expected him to cower away, to not have a spine like Kenma always suspected he didn’t, but he was pleasantly surprised when he saw eyes burning back into his, fury sitting nicely on top of despair and defeat, and he almost apologized in his head for ever doubting Miya and his resoluteness in the first place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whistle blew, the score was tallied, and they retired to the back of the court, bowing and thanking each other for the game regardless of if they were actually thankful for it or not. They players lined up at the net that separated them as enemies and, for a moment, they really felt like nothing more than just some high schoolers who finished a simple game of volleyball, but that feeling was immediately disposed of when Kenma met the eyes of Miya Atsumu, who was standing in front of him and looked like his entire world had been destroyed, like someone had died instead of him making a simple mistake in the game he loved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, Kenma was better now, in more ways than one, different in a way he couldn’t have imagined himself being last year, and he knew that no one, not even himself anymore, would think of that last toss as a “simple mistake,” nor that what Miya Atsumu held in his heart for this sport was something as easy and explainable as “love.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma was easier on himself than others, than people like Miya, when it came to this game because he didn’t have quite the same stakes in it as them, still felt slightly alienated from them and the complicated relationship and feelings they had for the game, but even himself would’ve been broken and berating his existence if he had done a last play like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held out his hand for Miya to shake once more, but it felt different this time. Like an actual truce, genuine and one that would be kept since this would be their last meeting, their paths completing diverging after this and only meeting this once, but it also felt a little like an apology. Kenma didn’t want to be the one to end someone’s time playing volleyball, didn’t think he had the right, especially not someone like Miya Atsumu, but Miya must’ve detected the almost pity-like gesture in his handshake because suddenly the fight came back to his eyes and Kenma audibly winced as Miya clutched his hand like it was his last lifeline, a slight revenge for someone that had just thrown a wrench in his entire plan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won, Kozume Kenma.” No games, no teasing, this was pure and real, a rare moment shared between two people who weren’t usually pure and real with others, least of all almost strangers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won, so you better not mess it up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenma knew what he was saying, felt it in his core, would’ve felt the same way if he was in the other’s place, so he did what he always tried to do best; he tried his best to not disappoint.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t, Miya Atsumu.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Nekoma still ended up losing to karasuno but its okay bc Kenma and Atsumu understand that beating someone like hinata shoyo isn’t an easy feat so :P also the pose Atsumu was doing in the beginning looked like, in my head, the pose oikawa does that iwa says to stop doing bc it pisses him off DJSKSKSKS</p><p>Anyway thank u for reading and I hoped u liked it!!! Atsuken is great and I specifically love the idea of them as rivals in volleyball so what was I to do than to write ferals rivals atsuken myself. </p><p>Also I’m not really sure of their history, how they know each other, why they’re so competitive. I had a fun thought of “what if they were ex childhood friends who became ‘enemies’” but backstory didn’t really seem needed and I thought it’d be more fun to leave why they are the way they are up to y’all!! Lemme know what u think I’m curious to see yalls thoughts :3c</p><p>Anyways thanks again for reading!!!!<br/><a href="https://mobile.twitter.com/edilyfthaseul"> personal  twitter </a><br/><a href="https://twitter.com/fireflysunlight?s=21"> fic twitter </a><br/></p></blockquote></div></div>
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